Black Doggerel

so now Spike's managed to scare the shit out of me as well as hurt himself. they warn you about throwing sticks for dogs and I never do it. but throwing his ring too close to a big jaggy fallen half-tree is, i suppose, an easy mistake to make.

I had my eye on Squish who was making friends with a random terrier and i didn't see what happened. I just looked over and there's Spike all tangled up in this fucking fallen tree. I was flashing terrified visions of IMPALED ON BIG POINTY STICK but in fact all he'd done was catch his harness on it.

only at some point in the fracas he's managed to break one of his front dewclaws in the worst way - still too attached to pull off but broken across the quick so it's bleeding AND sticking out sideways. of course it's too late in the day for a non-emergency vet visit. if I'm lucky he'll bite off the broken bit himself before morning, Spike's stoic and efficient that way.

i'm so grateful this is minor, but I don't have words for how badly I don't need it right this minute. augh.

ETA: He nibbled off the dangly broken end himself, which was all I really needed the vet for. It's tender though. I can see the quick and every time he forgets and jumps up on me or the door he - well, he's Spike and he doesn't do wincing or yelping, but he immediately stops with the jumping up without being asked. So I know it's hurting him some. I shall wrap it when i take him out and keep him leashed for a bit, which will suck but things could be SO much worse.

Spike's paw is not quite healed, but I can't take another day of this. I have to play tuggy with him even if I'm not letting him run - I can hold it so he keeps his front paws mostly off the ground. Trouble with that is that lack of exercise makes him much faster and snappier on the tuggy. He never means to nail my hand. But my pinky's still dripping blood and I am running out of fingers.

In other news, Torchwood finale and Doctor Who season opener double whammy yay! I cried like a little girl, chortled, snorted, squealed, sniffled, gasped in surprise. So very happy, so heartbroken.

Then there was Battlestar Galactica. It's been off the air too long; I've forgotten what was happening and lost much of the urge to care. The characters are still good and all but I was caught between WTF? and meh - I think RTD got all my OMGYAY!!!

I did enjoy Gaius Baltar, though. I'll give it that.

Edited to add: Oh yes. What's this I hear about half my UK-resident f-list getting snow? You utter, utter, utter, utter, utter bastards. Winter completely bypassed bloody Bournemouth yet again this year - I don't think we had more than a handful of frosty mornings, even. And now fucking summer's kicked in here, complete with sweat rash and self-loathing. I hate you all so much I can't even speak. And if any of you who're having snow live in a Council place, would you consider a swap?

Argh fucking collie, he's cut his paw again. It's a small wound on one of his forepaw pads; bled enough to show me a red flag as he went upstairs ahead of me. Not big or deep enough for a vet visit, but we'll be on short walks with socks on for a few days.

And I'm only posting about it so I don't lose track of when it happened, in case it gets worse or gets infected and I end up needing to see a vet with it after all. But you know, hi everyone! While I'm here.

We were walking; and Spike spotted a stick on the ground and decided to play with it. This happens a thousand times a day. It was a small one; about pencil-width and twice as long. He pounced on it, bounced up and down and chomped it into pieces. So far, so normal.

I do know that sticks aren't a particularly safe dog toy; I've never encouraged it, and I carry a cloth tuggy to distract him off them. But I live in a windy town where you can't spit without hitting a tree, and it's truly not possible to avoid every little piece of wood on the pavement; and it's only possible to redirect him before he grabs it about 50% of the time. He's fast and he's sudden and he's not always predictable.

He froze for an instant and started frantically pawing at his face, snarling at what was hurting him. My heart stopped. I reached for him, to find out what the problem was and also to stop him putting his own eye out with his dew claws. He wrapped both front paws around my arm as I held his head, and he relaxed his jaws and let me explore with my fingers. That's how much he trusts me. If it had happened to Squish, I would have needed a vet trip and sedation just to get inside his mouth; it's a good thing Squish isn't a stick-chomper.

I found a sharp piece of stick poking into the inside of his lip, outside his teeth. I pulled it free and let go of his head. Shit. The frantic pawing started up again, and his eyes were bulging in panic now. There must be more.

It was a bit harder to relax him this time. Hold still darling, I've got it... I can't say that the prospect of losing a finger didn't flash through my mind. It does. It also doesn't stop you.

Whatever the problem was, it wasn't outside his teeth. I had to explore the entire inside of his mouth, under his tongue, the roof of his mouth - there. He'd bitten the twig into sections and there was one wedged across the roof of his mouth. There was blood on my fingers. He winced when I pulled it free. He didn't bite down; he didn't resist me at all. I knew he wouldn't.

Ever since John died, I've glided through life in the serene knowledge that I am emotionally bulletproof. Until now. Spike will be six years old on Monday; I'm twelve months closer to the day what's left of my heart gets ripped out.

At this moment, I honestly don't know if I can survive that a second time.

On the other hand, Spike was bumping me to play tug again before we were halfway home.

Today, I've been shoulder-barged, flying-drop-kicked, bitten, tripped, arm-humped, leg-humped, mauled, barked at, boinged on repeatedly, nearly yanked over, had passers-by cross the road to avoid me, and my sock supply is shrinking at a scary rate.

On the other hand, one paw is now fine and the other is healing well.

I have committed fiction. It was rather like defusing a very complicated bomb with a ticking timer on it. I have just handed it over to the official bomb disposal expert, with no idea whether or not it will explode in her face, and an uneasy feeling that it probably will.

Therefore, I am getting drunk now.


In other news, I have discovered that Spike has actually damaged both his front paws. Both paws are damaged in the same place, on the biggest pad, just where the base of the middle and ring fingers would be if they were hands and not paws. I am baffled, but leaning towards the theory that he did it by being particularly bouncy on some sharp stones or gravel; either that or there was a patch of small pieces of broken glass in the park. So now I'm having to wrap two of his paws in gauze and socks before we go outdoors. His score so far is two socks lost and one destroyed.

Bizarre happening of the day: Took dogs out for a pee at midnight, and there was a young man on the pavement doing something with a laptop computer on top of the wall that surrounds ou building. Both dogs took one look at him and freaked. This never happens. He turned and spoke to me, and it transpired he was deaf. As soon as he turned, the dogs stopped freaking and started wagging. I'm thinking maybe it was his standing-still-fiddling-with-something that freaked them? People on pavements don't generally do that. I wonder if he has a livejournal?

Argh, fucking collie. Come back from the park and he's licking his paw. So I check, and there's a chunk of skin missing off one of his pads. So we're back to no real exercise till that heals. HELP.

Note that there was no sign of limping or discomfort at any point while in the park or on the way home. There never is. I swear if he had four broken legs it would only slow him down a little.

Also, I appear to have a yeast infection. HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY.

Dear Spike,

If you insist on doing your Big Macho Paw Scraping to the point where you make your toenails bleed, don't blame me for cutting your ball game short. Idiot.


Love you,

Ma xxx


P.S. Three days restricted exercise, OK? Please don't kill me.

My collie has a problem with his brain being missing. He found some unusually stupid squirrels while we were out playing ball, chased them up a blackthorn tree and made my heart stop by coming down with his face covered in blood. Luckily the thorns missed all the really vital parts like his eyes - once I'd cleaned it up it was just a few small cuts on his chin and tongue.

He's all like OMG I NEARLY HAD THEM!!! Love him. He deserves some joy in advance because tonight is going to be hell on him.

Not gonna do a year in review or anything introspective. Designating one block of time 2006 and one 2007 is just an arbitrary way of trying to measure the immeasurable. Time is an illusion. What happens stays happened. It's not linear.

But ( I still couldn't resist doing a couple of silly new year resolution memes anyway. )

Have a great one, all of you. And I'll be on IM tonight if any of you are staying home.

Shit, shit, shit, shit. Spike did something to his left wrist this evening when that squirrel leapt over his head. He did do some quite spectacular aerobatics trying to catch it - he must've landed wrong. He's limping badly on it now.

Have looked over and felt it very carefully and there's nothing bleeding, loose, crunchy, sticking in, sticking out or making him wince, so it looks like a pulled muscle type thing. I'll see how a night's rest affects it before I do anything. This happened once before and he was fine inside 24 hours.

note to self, check LJ for the last time it happened. Was it the same leg? Because that'd be a worry.

ETA: Arse. Why the hell didn't I say which bloody leg it was? But it was a year ago, so it doesn't necessarily mean he has a recurring bad leg. I hope.